Blood and Bone (21 page)
ON HER WAY to the East Jersey State Prison in Rahway, New Jersey, a quick thirty-minute drive from the hospital, she called Henderson. “You would not believe the shit that we stepped into.”
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” said Henderson.
“I had to turn my phone off in the hospital. Now, listen to this. Liam Byrne’s death certificate was signed by a Dr. Manzone. Manzone certified that Liam Byrne died of a heart attack at this hospital in a place called Summit, New Jersey. But the hospital doesn’t have any record of Liam Byrne. It might be just a clerical error, right? Except that this Dr. Manzone isn’t your normal ear, nose, and throat guy. He had something else going on the side.”
“Ramirez, you need to come back.”
“You’re not listening. There was this place in Elizabeth that was doing embalming for a host of funeral parlors from New York, New Jersey, and even Philadelphia. I thought everyone did their own, but apparently often they outsource. But it wasn’t enough to just juice these bodies with formaldehyde. These guys in Elizabeth would cut out the kidneys, the eyes, even the bones, and sell them to distribution centers, some kind of biomedical supply houses, to be used in transplants. And the guy doing the harvesting was our Dr. Manzone.”
“Where’s this heading?” said Henderson. “Because we got stuff going on down here you need to be a part of.”
“Hang on, Pops, it’s just starting to get interesting. Sometimes the corpses they got weren’t in good enough shape for the transplants— too old or they died too long ago or there was some disease eating at their bones. So what did our guy Manzone do? The son of a bitch doctored the death certificates, or made new ones, so that the organs they were selling would look like A-one used parts instead of the rusted refuse of rent-a-wrecks. Are you getting me? I’d bet dollars to those doughnuts you stuff down your gut each morning that Liam Byrne didn’t die of something as natural as a heart attack.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Rahway. Our Dr. Manzone is in the same prison where they held Hurricane Carter. Manzone cooperated fully with the New Jersey authorities and apparently could remember the details of every doctored certificate, down to the specific parts cut out and sold. I bet he’ll remember what the hell happened to Liam Byrne.”
“Forget it, Ramirez.”
“Forget it? Are you crazy, old man, or just lazy? We’re on top of something huge here. If Byrne was murdered fourteen years ago, then Toth might have been killed by the same guy for the same reason. Which means this same bastard was probably trying to kill young Byrne last night. And the reason was in that file cabinet. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a serial killer on our hands and Kyle Byrne is next on the list.”
“Forget about it. Come on back. Lieutenant’s orders.”
“What’s going on here, Henderson? Why are you shutting this down?”
“You were right all along, Ramirez. You had it pegged from the start. We got a call from a pawnshop about the watch. We just picked up the ticket holder, with what appears to be the right gun and a box from the Toth office.”
“You’re killing me.”
“He’s waiting for us in interrogation room six. Come on back. We’ll go in together and break down his ass and put the Laszlo Toth homicide to bed.”
WELCOME TO SENATOR TRUSCOTT’S Philadelphia office,” said
the pretty receptionist at the desk facing the front door. “Can I help you?”
Kyle looked around at the paneled walls, the dark wood furnishings, the august seal of the United States Senate above the receptionist’s desk, at the tight, smiling face of the senator himself bolted onto the wall next to the seal. Maybe this was what his father meant about glory. If so, the son of a bitch could have it. There was something forced and artificial about the whole scene, something whose only purpose was to impress. From what he could tell about the job of a senator, it was all about sucking up for money, checking your values at the door, and voting with your party. Kyle would just as soon cut out the middle stuff and head straight to the party.
He looked at the receptionist’s sincere brown eyes and tilted his head. She seemed familiar. He had met her before. At a bar? At a club?
“Hi, I’m looking for that Senator Truscott,” said Kyle. “Is he around?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“But he’s coming to Philadelphia tomorrow, right?”
“He has an event at the convention center.” She eyed his outfit. “A fund-raising event. Would you like to buy a ticket? There are still a few available.”
“For a pretty stiff donation, I assume.”
“Oh, it will be worth it, I assure you.” Her pretty eyes widened, and she lowered her voice. “It’s not definite yet, but I have it on good authority that the vice president is scheduled to attend.”
“Really? The vice president?” Pause. “Do you have a fork, by any chance?”
“A fork?”
“Yeah, because I’d sooner stick a fork in my eye than go to an event that the vice president is scheduled to attend.”
The receptionist leaned back and smiled a smile of sudden interest. “I know you,” she said. “You’re that Kyle Byrne. I didn’t recognize you in that . . .” She waved her hand.
“Suit, it’s called a suit. Where did we meet, again?”
“I just started at this job. Before that I worked in the lobby of the building where your father’s old law firm was located.”
“Ahh, of course,” he said. “I remembered your lovely eyes.” He waited for the blush, but she wasn’t the blushing type. “It’s funny how we keep running into each other. What’s your name?”
“Sharon.”
“So, Sharon, maybe you could help me.” He sat on the edge of her desk, leaned forward. “What I’d like to do is to sort of meet with the senator before his convention center event. Could you set that up for me?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, actually.”
“The senator’s schedule is booked months in advance. There’s no way they can squeeze you in. And in any event, all scheduling for the senator is done in Washington. Requests for meetings need to be faxed to his office down there. I could give you the fax number.”
“How long will it take to get a response?”
“Count on weeks. And be aware that the senator’s ability to meet with constituents is very limited.”
“I guess that means forget about it.”
She looked left, looked right. “Do you have a couple thousand to donate to his campaign?”
“No.”
“Then yes, forget about it.”
“How about if I just leave a message for the guy? Could you pass that along for me?”
“Again, I could give you the fax number.”
Kyle stared at her for a moment and tried to think it through. Talking to her wasn’t going to help, because she didn’t have the power to help. But something seemed fishy. It was quite the coincidence, her being first at his father’s old office and now here. But maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe the cops who’d picked him up in his father’s office had been waiting for him all the time. Maybe they’d been tipped by the senator himself, who’d been tipped by someone who knew that Kyle had come calling to his dad’s old firm. By this Sharon? Maybe. It might be how she got this job. But girls like Sharon didn’t get plum jobs by trading information, they traded something else. And he remembered his suspicion about her and that bulldog lawyer when he had seen her before. Plus, the son of a bitch had mentioned that he had already begun a new job.
“Why don’t I talk to Malcolm about it,” said Kyle. “Is he around?”
Sharon flinched.
“I guess that means yes.”
“I think you should go, Mr. Byrne.”
“I suppose you’re right, I should go, but I’m not going to. Which is his office? I’ll just stop in for a few minutes, chat about the weather.”
“If you don’t leave now, Mr. Byrne, I’ll be forced to call security.”
“Before you do that, Sharon, why don’t you let your little buddy Malcolm know that I’m here to see him. And you can tell him that if he doesn’t see me right this instant, I’m going to have to have a chat with his wife about how he swung you this sweet job and all the lip smacking and knee knocking that went with it.”
SHAME ABOUT YOUR HOUSE ,” said Malcolm with a flickering smirk. “Shame about your dick,” said Kyle.
Puzzlement creased his pug features. “What about my . . . ? Oh.
Okay, we’re back in high school. State your business, Byrne. Some of us work for a living.”
The little creep was sitting in suspenders and shirtsleeves behind a desk in his private office, and Kyle could barely restrain himself from leaping over the wide desktop and throttling that thick neck. This punk was probably responsible for both his arrest and the fire, and Kyle would’ve liked nothing better than to batter that face bloody, while the photograph of the senator and his tight smile looked on from the wall. But then he might get some blood on the suit, and that would be a bitch to get out. Another argument for T-shirts and shorts.
“Nice digs,” said Kyle.
“I like them.”
“Quite a leap to go from toiling for a little troll like Laszlo Toth
to becoming an aide to a United States senator.”
“I got lucky.”
“Oh, don’t demean yourself. It was more than luck.”
Malcolm’s belligerent chin lifted in immodest pride. “Maybe
you’re right.”
“Let’s add thievery and betrayal and a touch of murder, too.” “Go to hell.”
“Who did you call when I came looking for my father’s old files?” Malcolm twisted his head as if his collar had suddenly tightened.
“No one. I didn’t call anyone.”
“If this is the quality of your lying, then I hope your matrimonial
lawyer is a sharp little cheddar, because it means your wife already
knows about you and Sharon and the whoop-de-do.”
“I don’t have the least idea what you are talking about.” “Funny, that’s what Sharon says, too. But adultery is really a minor
matter in the scheme of things. My guess is the senator asked you to
keep an eye on Laszlo Toth, all the while dangling this job as bait.
When Laszlo found the file, you called the senator and chirped away
like a chirpy little cockatoo. But when the senator ended up having
Laszlo shot to death, that made you an accomplice to murder. You’re
here to keep your mouth shut.”
“You’re way off base, Byrne.”
“Maybe, but I’m getting close to something, aren’t I?” “What do you want?”
“I guess that means I’m getting damn close. The senator is coming to Philadelphia tomorrow for an event at the convention center. I
need to meet with him before the fund-raiser.”
“He’s booked. There’s a committee hearing he has to attend in the
morning.”
“Oh, yes, and we all know how important committee meetings
are. Call him and make it happen.”
“Why would I do that? Why would I do anything to help you?” Why indeed? His father had given him the answer, now it was
time to squeeze.
“Because I found it, you dork,” said Kyle. “Because I have what Laszlo
was killed for and what you were undoubtedly searching for even when
I came knocking at my father’s office. I have the O’Malley file.” Malcolm turned his head slightly. “You’re bluffing.”
“Maybe, but can the senator take that chance?”
“If you have it, let me look at it. If it’s real, I’ll see if I can do something for you.”
“Oh, I have it, and it’s real, don’t you worry. And my bet is that
you have no idea what’s inside. I’m sure Senator Truscott would be
thrilled to learn that his new aide has been angling to take a peek.
Trying to blackmail yourself into a chief-of-staff position?” “That’s not what I was doing—”
“Save the lies for your wife and the tears for Sharon. Now, take
out a pencil and a piece of paper. After three years of law school, you
turned yourself into a messenger boy, so here’s the message: Tell the
senator that I have the file.”
“He’ll want proof,” said Malcolm as he plucked a pen off his desk. “Tell him I know what really happened to Colleen. That will spark
his interest. We’ll meet at four o’clock, which will give him plenty of
time to get here from Washington, have our discussion, and still be
able to stick his tongue in the vice president’s ear.”
“Where do you propose to meet?”
Kyle thought for a moment. “There’s a bar called Bubba’s in Queens
Village. Your boy’s a clever fellow, he’ll find it. You tell him to be
there at four and to be there alone. He shows up with a guard, with
his mother, or even someone as weak-kneed as you, and it’s over.” “And you’ll have the file with you?”
“Fuck no. I’m not an idiot. The thing will be in safe hands, ready
to go to the press if anything happens to me. But nothing will happen, right? Just a pleasant meeting with a constituent. I have some
ideas on the immigration issue.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Okay, I got it. Do you have a number where he can reach you if
the plans change?”
“The plans won’t change,” said Kyle, standing. “We’ll meet, we’ll
talk, we’ll do a fox-trot and figure something out. Everyone will go
home happy.”
Malcolm stared at Kyle for a moment. “You’re completely different than you were last week in the office. What the hell’s gotten into
you?”
“It’s the suit,” said Kyle.